


we'll kill the sorcerer tomorrow

by secace



Category: Arthurian Literature - Fandom, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Gen, it exists but god where do i start w bg on this one, literally dont ask for context, this ones dedicated to mr classen. im coming for u, watch ur back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27373480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secace/pseuds/secace
Summary: “So,” she started“So,” Gawain repeated. “We agree he looks exactly the same right?”“Mhm.” she crossed her arms. “Sometimes, you know, people get hit on the head, and--”“You wouldn’t forget that would you?” Gawain demanded skeptically in a stage hush. “He’s not forgotten anything else.”
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	we'll kill the sorcerer tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> hi <3 firstly shotuout to gawain-in-green for writing a few killer lines when i didnt know what to say next ur raised the quality level 300 percent w like 5 sentences
> 
> secondly im not sorry for this content actually bc consider its very funny

“Yes, they’re very nice, I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at here.”

Lancelot pulled his shirt back down. “Gawain.”

“Yup,” said Gawain helpfully. 

“A-- A change has clearly been affected.” He insisted with a flush.

Gawain frowned and considered things, then, with the careful wording of someone reasoning with an armed drunk, said: “Okay. Uhm, let me clarify the timeline here. You fell in a cave and then,” a vague gesture. “Right. Did you-- were you inside of a cave and then fell, like tripped, or did you fall  _ into  _ a cave?”

“Into.”

“Right,” Gawain continued. “Okay. Are you aware that there is blood on your face?”

He blinked, brought a hand to touch his temple, which was wet with blood. “Oh, that. Happens sometimes. But, look, not the most important--”

“Seems relevant,” Gawain suggested gently. “Do we want to maybe seek medical attention or,” he stopped and nodded at the expression rendered. “Okay, well, if it could wait long enough for you to get back it’ll wait a bit longer. Guinevere?”

“Guinevere,” Lancelot agreed, “Maybe she’ll be more-- observant.”

“Maybe!” said Gawain in a somewhat strangled tone. “Maybe!”

Gawain fetched Guinevere. 

“Okay,” she said, assessing the situation. “Is it the blood? Is that what I’m looking at? That seems pretty on par for you if I’m being honest.”

The two of them stared at each other in mutual befuddlement.

“Guinevere.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been transmogrified by a sorcerer.”

She blinked. “Oh! Oh, have you. Okay.” She pursed her lips. “How so?”

Slowly, as if explaining basic shapes to a toddler, he gestured to some key areas.

“Uh huh,” she agreed slowly. “Gawain, can we convene in the hallway?”

“Wh- why are you convening?” Lancelot asked worriedly. “Oh no.”

Thinking a task would be comforting, Gawain handed over a folded cloth. “Just press that on your temple for a minute huh?”

Guinevere pulled him into the entrance way, leaving Lancelot looking stressed and holding a redding cloth to his face.

“So,” she started

“So,” Gawain repeated. “We agree he looks exactly the same right?”

“Mhm.” she crossed her arms. “Sometimes, you know, people get hit on the head, and--”

“You wouldn’t forget that would you?” Gawain demanded skeptically in a stage hush. “He’s not forgotten anything else.”

“So you think it was a sorcerer.”

“I’m sorcerer agnostic,” Gawain said, spreading his hands. “But sure, let’s test your theory.”

He strode confidently back into the room. “Right, so as we all know, I am a real doctor.”

Guinevere sighed quietly but let the lie pass, allowing Gawain to walk past and take charge of the situation with limited expertise. 

“Do you have a headache?”

“I don’t-- I suppose, but look--”

“I’ve seen!” Gawain said quickly. He chuckled awkwardly and ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, at any rate--” he took a long step and tore the curtain back, letting in bright afternoon light. “Thoughts on, on that?”

He winced. “Uh. Don’t love it--”

“Noted,” Gawain said, and without warning drew a knife and dove at Lancelot. 

Reacting with characteristic aplomb under stabbing, Lancelot dodged with a small side step, and in one motion both disarmed Gawain and threw him to the ground.

“Alright!” Gawain exclaimed cheerfully, on his back on the floor. “Your reflexes are fine.”

“Great.” Guinevere gestured to a bench. “Maybe you should sit down, your face is--  _ covered  _ in blood.”

“Oh, is it?” He asked distantly, sitting in the proffered chair. “I just think-- kind of burying the lead,” he argued halfheartedly, tossing the knife up in the air and catching it neatly, by the point, offering the handle to Gawain on the ground. 

Sitting up and accepting the knife, Gawain considered the situation. “Run me through the events immediately preceding and following falling into a cave.”

“And being cursed,” Lancelot added doggedly.

“And being cursed, yeah.”

“Don’t encourage him!” Guinevere hissed, and was waved off.

Lancelot was looking a bit distant. “Ah… well I suppose I was outside of a cave. Logically, uhm, and then was-- was inside a cave, very suddenly. And I was cursed. Transmogrified.”

“Trans _ mogrified _ , yeah, for sure,” Guinevere said dryly. “Something like that certainly happened at some point.”

“What?”

“You’re confusing him!” Gawain protested, waving his hands in front of Lancelot's face as if to block her obfuscatory wordplay. “Simple questions! Do you remember the moments following the fall?”

Lancelot frowned, sensing a non-curse hypothesis was being generated. “Not-- no, not, not strictly.”

“After?”

“Uh-- I was in a cave,” he started after a long moment.

“Right. We’re very solid on the cave part,” Gawain said encouragingly.

Guinevere frowned. “See, the problem is that you already acted like you’d taken a hit to the head.”

“Guinevere!” Gawain protested. “Be nice! You’ll confuse him.”

“Can we please return to the topic at hand?” Lancelot said imploringly.

“We’re  _ on  _ the topic at hand,” Guinevere said sharply. “Catch up, bud.”

“Sorry,” he said on instinct. “Wait, no. No wait.”

They waited patiently while he considered things. Distractedly, he held the bloody cloth up to his head, where the bleeding had ebbed. Still, he looked a little alarming between the blood, state of half dress and general bedraglement. 

“I feel like you guys are ignoring me, when I say that I have been cursed,” he said finally. “I think you’re putting uhm-- too much-- worrying too much about my head and not-- ah.”

“Look, I don’t know how to tell you that you’ve always had tits,” Guinevere said bluntly, before Gawain could stop her. “I’ll take them if you don’t want them.”

Lancelot stared up at her as though she had killed his parents in front of him and now, moreover, was criticizing his choice of decor. “What?”

“See, gender…” Gawain started weakly, then shrugged. 

“Yeah, you’re really clarifying things Gawain, great job,” Guinevere said. “We’re all up to speed now.”

“...tits, uh,”

“Uh huh,” she pursed her lips. “Go on.” 

“It’s all I had. Sorry Lancelot.”

Lancelot nodded once in generous dismissal. “Uh, right-- close the curtain? It’s bright.”

“Interesting,” Gawain noted, and closed the curtains. “Sometimes-- at times-- a person will-- you really don’t remember?”

“I truly don’t have any idea what you are talking about,” he insisted.

“You know what,” Gawain brightened, “You know what, I’ll just-- yeah, one second,” he rushed to the door and disappeared into the corridor.

Guinevere shrugged at Lancelot’s confusion. They sat in companionable silence for a moment as he fiddled with the stained cloth. “I think I’ll kill the sorcerer tomorrow. I’m-- I’m very tired.” 

“That’s probably a good idea,” she said encouragingly. Then, she looked up to the sound of footsteps outside the door which were as usual far too peppy.

Gawain burst in, dragging a confused looking person behind him. “I fetched Lanval!”

“The fruit?” she asked skeptically.

“Guinevere!”

“It’s alright,” said Lanval, “It’s not an insult to be mistaken for a member of the lgbtq community. I can’t stop her from being bigoted.”

“Oh, lord,” said Guinevere. “Oh Christ in heaven.”

“Lancelot, Lanval,” Gawain introduced them, looking abominably cheery. “Lanval, can you explain what transgender means to Lancelot?”

“Ah! Uh, yes,” with a slightly nervous smile, Lanval rummaged in a pocket for a handy pamphlet. “I don’t have a pamphlet but, basically, it’s when, uhm-- everyone says, thinks someone is one thing, like man or woman or what have you, but they aren’t really, it’s different.”

“Wow,” Guinevere said primly. “Good first attempt, let’s see take two.”

“Gender,” Lanval started, to encouraging nods from the assembled. “It’s different from sex.”

“Yes!” Guinevere clapped. “Put three points on the board under Lanval.”

“Let him dispense his wisdom, Guin. You might learn something,” Gawain suggested.

“Heard you learned a great deal of things you little slut--”

“I know what-- I know what transgender means,” Lancelot interrupted quietly, a bit teary at this point from his protests being so consistently ignored. He was ignored. 

“Queen Guinevere I-- you really shouldn’t uhm,” Lanval turned a sheepish pink. “Shame--”

Gawain waved a hand. “She’s a slut too.” And then, a tad more accusatorily: “She fucked my aunt.”

“Oh!” said Lanval delicately. “Oh, okay. That’s probably-- okay then,”

“Thank you for your support in my endeavours.” She cleared her throat and addressed Lanval in her most scornful voice. “This is why I’m more powerful than Sir Gawain, Sir Lanval. I don’t have any relatives for him to hook up with. I never even had parents.”

“Wait,” Lanval had been putting things together. “You-- but you literally put me on trial for being gay. And you’re--”

“And it was very funny,” she asserted with a thin smirk.

Gawain shrugged. “It was a bit mean.”

Too caught up in the humour of the moment, Guinevere ignored him. She pointed at Lanval and gave the closest thing she had to a giggle. "Aw, look at his face! He looks like a decorative fish."

“Trans people,” Lanval started desperately, maybe hoping to turn the conversation back around. “It’s when--"

“Come on, Gawain, you’re not seriously suggesting we let Sir Fruit give Lancelot a lecture on--”

“It’s-- it’s worth a try,” said Gawain, somewhat sheepishly. “At least stop bullying him.”

He received a skeptical look for this, which turned into a knowing look halfway through. And a knowing look was a dangerous look. “Really?” said Guinevere. “You want back in his pants? Really?”

“I was trying,” said Gawain testily, “to be  _ helpful _ , Guinevere.”

“Helpful’s an interesting word for it,” she sniped, then, before Gawain could respond, “Well, go on Lanval.”

“Thank you Guinevere. I’m glad you’re at least open to hearing and learning.” Summoning all requisite pamphlet knowledge, Lanval tried a third time. “Uh, okay, so, basically, when someones gender identity is different from their sex they were assigned at birth, then, that’s transgender.”

“Hey, that wasn’t bad,” Guinevere granted. “Three cheers for the fruit.”

“Oh, was it? Good, good. I do have more-- if he understood thus far.”

“Probably not,” Gawain admitted. “He’s been asleep most of this conversation.”

The other two turned to the chair. “Oh.”

Guinevere shrugged. “I suppose we’ll kill the sorcerer tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Gawain brightened. “Hey, Lanval, explain something to me again? In your bedroom?”

The three of them filed out.

“Goodmorning!” Gawain said chipperly. “Can I open the curtain?”

“It’s your room,” blinking blearily, Lancelot surveyed the situation, looking like he sort of wanted to ask why he’d woken up in a chair in Gawain’s room half-dressed and covered in blood, but couldn’t quite put the words together as of yet.

“My head hurts?” He managed after some thought.

“You fell into a cave.” They were all very sure of this point at least. “You should probably see, like, a real doctor who isn’t me,” Gawain admitted.

“.. did you rub grass on me?” He asked skeptically, rising to his feet.

“No!” Gawain protested. “Guinevere and I handled the situation with aplomb, despite you-- well--”

“What?” 

Gawain considered how to explain the mix-up tactfully. Lancelot seemed to have forgotten the matter, and he hoped not to remind him of it again. But that would mean lying to Lancelot, and he was against that very much.

“You sort of forgot about,” He gestured to a few key areas, “ and thought you’d been cursed. By a sorcerer.”

“Was I?” Lancelot asked, curiously.

“Not as far as I can determine. You’re definitely concussed though.”

“Huh,” he considered this, touching the dried blood on his temple distractedly, “ah. Uhm. Only you and Guinevere--”

“And Lanval,” Gawain added, a little apologetic. “And Agravaine, because he was at the inner gate yesterday. And if he knows then Mordred and Gaheris do by now. Sorry.”

“Oh!” he said glumly. “Oh. Okay.”

“I just want you to know, I would totally let this go,” Gawain lied, “But Guinevere thinks it’s really funny and is never going to let you forget it.”

Then Lancelot went and got medical attention, the end.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *checks notes * trans rights?


End file.
